


kamala harris and the case of why republicans are such dicks

by orphan_account



Category: Political RPF, Political RPF - US 21st c., Real Person Fiction
Genre: Comedy, Dramatization of Real Events, F/F, F/M, Mild Sexual Content, Women Being Awesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-13
Updated: 2017-06-13
Packaged: 2018-11-13 20:12:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11192571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “Kamala,” Kirsten deadpans, “they’re all Jonah Ryan.”She drops her spoon and it lands in her cup with a clatter. “Oh my god, you’re absolutely right.”





	kamala harris and the case of why republicans are such dicks

It happens while she’s eating lunch in her office. It’s not much of a lunch – just a sandwich and some juice, which, by the way, she should start eating better, she’s a damn senator now – but that’s completely blown away when she gets the text from Mark.

_Emergency meeting  
Comey just fired_

She drops her sandwich and wipes her hands on her skirt. “Shit, shit, shit – Nathan, hold all my calls, I have to go!” She sees him stick his head inside but she pushes past him and heads into the hallway. She pulls on her coat, trying to brush off the creases as besy as she can, when she turns the corner and walks straight into Chuck.

“Shi – oh, hey, Kamala,” he says. He pauses a second and looks her over. “Hey, do you know what day it is?”

Kamala blinks. “Wait… you don’t know what day it is? Where’s – where’s your phone? What are you even doing right now?”

He shrugs a little haplessly. “Well, uh, I lost my watch in a poker game against Ben and then my staff took away my phone so I couldn’t barter that too, so I’ve just been wandering around right now. Was probably going to go and bother McConnell until he retreats back into his husk or something, I don’t know.”

“So you – so you don’t…” She opens her mouth, then closes it and pinches the bridge of her nose as she lets out a sharp exhale. “Chuck,” she says, slowly, “Comey was just fired.”

“You’re shitting me,” he says. When her expression doesn’t change, his mouth falls open. “You’re _shitting_ me.”

“Mark just texted me. We’re having a meeting right now to talk about it.” She gestures him along and they walk together, hurried footsteps echoing across the chambers, and it occurs for her to ask, “Why do you keep playing poker with Sasse if he beats you each time?”

“Hey,” he huffs, “I did win. Once.”

“Was that the first time you played?” Chuck is silent, and Kamala rolls her eyes. Of course. That makes perfect sense – reel him in with one win and then make him earn the next one. It’s a miracle he hasn’t lost his phone before.

Dianne texts her while they’re stepping into the room – apparently, the Judiciary is also having an emergency meeting and she’ll need to be briefed on whatever the Intel Committee learns or discusses. Kamala pockets her phone and looks around the room. “What’s going on?” she asks.

“Well,” Martin says, voice heavy with sarcasm, “Joe just went out with an aide to get everyone pizza, so I think we’re off to a good start.”

“Well, fuck,” Chuck says. “Why did you let him go alone? You know he’s going to bring back pineapples and anchovies or some shit like that.” He stands up and heads for the door. “I’ll be right back.”

Kamala covers her face with her hands and presses her palms into her eyes. “Fuck,” she mumbles. “We’re all fucked.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Did you see the tweet?” Kamala asks, swallowing down a bite of her sandwich. It tastes exactly like the one she had yesterday and honestly, it might be the exact one she didn’t finish yesterday.

Dianne rolls her eyes. “Of course I saw the tweet. Who the hell hasn’t seen any of the President’s tweets?”

“Paul Ryan,” Martin offers, and the table erupts into quiet laughter. “I mean, that’s his whole defense. If he doesn’t see the tweets, he doesn’t have to defend them and then he’s safe.”

“Ever consider the fact that he could be lying through his teeth?” Kamala suggests.

Martin shrugs. “Maybe I want to give him the benefit of the doubt. You know,” he gestures vaguely, “gym bros before partisan hoes.”

“Okay, I’m going to stop you right there,” Mark says, pointing at him with his fork. He stabs at a cherry tomato and twirls it around. “We should be talking about what we’re going to ask later todau. We won’t be able to hear from Rosenstein but we can definitely ask McCabe if he knows anything or is willing to say anything.”

“We’re on a breakfast break, Mark,” Dianne says. “Can we have one fucking break where we don’t have to worry about the state of our union or whatever?”

Mark taps the bottom of his fork against his chin and pretends to think. “How about no?”

“Oh, fuck you.”

“But, seriously,” Kamala interjects, “can we talk about that fucking tweet? Like, does he honestly expect that we would _thank_ him for firing the Director of the FBI?”

“I honestly wouldn’t put it past him,” Mark admits. “Based on what Chuck has said about their conversations, he’s not exactly the smartest person…”

“Speaking of Chuck,” Martin says, as Kirsten walks over. “Senator Gillibrand,” he greets, while everyone else generally nods. Kamala gives her a pleasant smile and Kirsten returns it.

“Sorry to bother you, Senator Harris, but do you mind if I speak with you in private for a moment?” she asks.

Kamala is confused, but she doesn’t show it as she sets down her sandwich and walks aside with Kirsten. She crosses her arms and raises a brow. “What’s up?”

“Chuck disappeared a while ago,” Kirsten says. “He wouldn’t say where to, but he said that if I needed to know where, I should ask you.”

A migraine brews in the back reaches of Kamala’s head as she lets out a slow sigh. “He’s playing poker with Ben Sasse.”

“Shit,” Kirsten says. “You know he actually lost his congressional medal in one of those games and then I had to win it back for him?”

“I did not know that,” Kamala replies. “You play poker?”

“That was actually my first time.”

They chuckle a little and Kamala means to ask her a few more questions – mostly along the lines of, why the hell does Chuck do what he does – when she sees Dianne out of the corner of her eye, gesturing her back.

Kirsten sees it too and she lets out a slow sigh. “It looks like shit’s hitting the fan. Are you going to talk to Comey?” she asks.

“We’ll sure as hell try.” She pats her arm, a little awkwardly, and heads back to the table. “What happened?”

Mark hands her his phone. “Part of the Lester Holt interview just came out. You need to watch it.”

She presses play and listens, eyes widening slowly with each word Trump says – about how he was going to fire Comey regardless, about how it’s all because of the Democrats, about how he did it because he’s under investigation. She sits down and rubs her forehead. “Well, fuck.”

“Oh, I fucking feel that,” Martin says. “I fucking feel it.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“All right,” Richard says, looking around the room at the intel heads, “we’re in a closed session, so let’s just speak candidly.”

Kamala barely waits. She turns right to McCabe. “What does the FBI think of the President, given what’s just happened?”

“Honestly?” McCabe pauses a moment. “They kind of hate him right now.”

“I fucking knew it,” Kamala sighs, slowly shaking her head.

“Hard same,” Dianne agrees. “Hard fucking same.”

“Can we all stop swearing on the record?” Mark sighs.

“Fuck no.”

“Yeah,” he sighs again, “thought so.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Why are there quotes around tapes?” Kamala asks. “What does that mean? What does the entire tweet even _mean_? What does all of it mean? Are there tapes? Does he have tapes? Does he know something we don’t? Is he illegally taping everyone? I mean,” she runs a hand through her hair. “What the fuck does it mean?”

There’s a beat of silence, then Chuck says, “You know that Trump is a big, fat liar, right?”

“Yeah,” Kamala sighs, “yeah, I know.”

“Because that’s what we have to focus on,” Chuck says. “We can’t trust the President’s words or the words from anyone in the White House, so what we have to focus on is getting the memos and getting Comey in front of us.”

“If he did meet with Comey, in private, and asked him to stop investigating Mike Flynn, then that’s huge,” Mark says. “That’s – that’s fucking huge.”

Martin raises a brow. “You’re going to be swearing now?”

“Well, we’re not on the record right now,” Mark points out. “I mean, this is an unofficial meeting with just us, not an official meeting of the committee.”

“We didn’t even invite Joe or Angus,” Rom points out.

“We invited Angus, but he had some other work to do,” Dianne replies. “But yeah, we didn’t invite Joe. Which, by the way, can we talk about Joe?”

“Let’s talk about why we’re here instead,” Kamala says. “Chuck is right, we need those memos and we need Comey. And I’m sure the Republicans agree.”

“They do,” Mark says. “At least, Richard does. Marco and Tom have some reservations.”

Dianne scoffs. “Since when do they don’t? Republicans have gone down the drain since they let Trump into office.”

“Not all of them are bad,” Mark insists. “I mean, Richard, Susan, McCain – they’re all decent.”

“Are they, though?” Kamala asks. “How many of them have done something other than ‘strongly condemn’ the President’s actions or whatever they’re saying. They’re a bunch of spineless fucks – the majority of them, at least.”

“Paul Ryan and Mitch McConnell can suck my ass,” Chuck says. Dianne gives him a high-five and Mark covers his face with his hands.

“So much for the spirit of bipartisanship,” he grumbles quietly.

“So much for getting work done in this meeting,” Kamala counters, corners of her mouth quirking in a sarcastic smile.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“You were on the House Intel Committee, right?” Kamala asks. She’s eating a salad this time, because she’s so fucking tired of the shit sandwiches her aides keep getting her. Okay, it’s not their fault, but come on – get her a fucking burger or something every once in a while, huh?

“That was fucking ages ago,” Nancy says. She’s not eating, but there’s a thermos in her hands and Kamala is fairly certain it’s filled with something that is almost definitely alcoholic. She takes a long swing from it. “But yeah, I was.”

“So, you met with Bob Mueller, right?” she munches some spinach and swallows it down. “What’s he like?”

Nancy laughs, loud and surprising, and slowly shakes her head. “Oh, man, honestly, Rosenstein picked the best possible person to lead this investigation. Mueller is like – he’s one of those guys that compartmentalizes so well, he won’t even celebrate his own birthday while he’s on the job. Hell, he won’t even smile while he’s on the job and, if I’m completely honest, it’s kind of hot.”

“I… didn’t need to know that,” Kamala says, slowly.

“Yeah, well, whatever,” Nancy shrugs. She takes another long sip of her drink and her lips are stained slightly pink. “The point is, we can rest a little easier knowing Mueller is on the case. And instead, we can focus on all the other fucked up shit the Republicans have on their agenda.”

“Yeah,” Kamala nods. She tries to push her fork into a crouton and it breaks in half instead. “Yeah, that’s a good point.”

“I know it is,” Nancy says. She leans forward, eyes narrow. “Have you seen the Senate ACHA bill?”

Kamala shakes her head. “I keep asking Susan if she can show it to me but she keeps deflecting. She’s not even on the committee, though.”

Nancy sighs. “They’re all a bunch of fuckers, huh?”

“Hard to disagree with you there.”

She’s about to take a sip from her drink, then extends it out to Kamala. “I think you need it more than I do right now.”

Kamala chuckles quietly and she takes it. As it turns out, it’s not alcohol – it’s cranberry juice.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“That meeting was a waste of our fucking time,” Kamala groans. She’s slumped back in her seat, feet up on the chair beside her as she mixes the M&Ms into the rest of the fro-yo.

Beside her, Kirsten licks her spoon. “It’s basically everything we’ve already heard in the media,” she agrees. “We don’t need to hear about this – what we need to know is what does Comey know that got him fired.”

“We’re trying to get him,” Kamala says, “but Mark says he’s trying to pick between us or the Judicial Committee, and all we can do is just wait for him to make a decision.”

Kirsten scoffs. “Fuck the Judiciary Committee – he was investigating Trump, he needs to appear in front of you and he needs to tell you whatever the fuck is in those fucking memos.”

“Damn straight,” Kamala says and they both laugh a little. She takes a spoonful and tastes it, considering. “You know how everyone says that this is all basically House of Cards but with the cast of Veep?”

Kirsten lets out a chuckle and nods. “Yes, I’ve heard that.”

“Well, I can’t stop thinking about who in the White House would be Jonah Ryan.”

“Kamala,” Kirsten deadpans, “they’re _all_ Jonah Ryan.”

She drops her spoon and it lands in her cup with a clatter. “Oh my god, you’re absolutely right.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

She steps right into Mark’s office and closes the door behind her, marching right up to his desk where he quickly reorganizes papers and files. “Mark,” she says, voice firm and demanding, “let me speak with Jim Comey.”

Mark lets out a long and deep sigh. “You know I can’t do that.”

“We need him to testify,” Kamala says. “You know that, I know that, and I know you can’t contact him directly but fuck it, let me.”

He looks hesitant, reluctant, like he really does want to help her, but he just sighs again. “I’m sorry, but I can’t just hand over his number to you. Everyone will know I gave it to you.”

She scratches her chin. “What if,” she starts, slowly, “I called from your phone?”

“Why would I give you my phone?” he asks, raising a brow.

“Maybe the opportunity presented itself to me,” she shrugs. “Maybe, I don’t know, you were distracted and I managed to get ahold of it.”

Mark blinks, obviously confused. “How would I be distracted?”

“Oh, I can think of a couple of ways.”

A few moments later, her back against the wall and her legs wrapped around Mark’s waist while his hands squeeze her sides, Mark raises his lips from the side of her jaw and says, “You know, I thought you were just going to knock me out and steal my phone or something.”

Kamala rolls her eyes. “Look,” she says, gripping the back of his head, “I’m stressed as fuck, my husband is in California, and I keep forgetting to buy batteries for my vibrator. So, why don’t you do something useful for me and shove your dick in my cunt while I grab your phone from your pocket, all right?”

His chuckle is a little breathy but he obliges willingly, mouth trailing down and teasing one of her nipples while he rolls his hips and fucks her slowly, deep and purposeful thrusts. She puts a hand on his ass – which, by all means, is a nice ass – and pulls out his phone just as he brushes against her g-spot and she lets out a low moan.

After it’s over and he pulls out of her, Kamala pulls up her pants and uses Mark’s thumb to unlock his phone as he plops down into his chair. “Wow,” he says, still breathing heavily. “That was…”

“Hang on, it’s ringing.” She flattens out her coat and presses the phone to her ear, listening carefully to the rings.

And then, “Senator Warner?”

“Actually, it’s Senator Harris. Hello, Director Comey. Hope you’re having a good day.”

“Oh,” Comey says. He clears his throat and she hopes he’s smart enough to know not to ask her how she got Warner’s phone. “What is this phone call about, Senator?”

“Director, you need to come in front of our committee to testify about your firing and these memos that the media keeps hearing about,” she says.

Comey sighs. “Senator, the Judiciary Committee has –”

“With all due respect, Director, this committee deserves more to hear from you,” she snaps. “The President himself has cited the Russia probe as the reasoning behind why you were fired and for that, and much more, you should come before us.”

There’s a beat of silence and she has a bunch more arguments prepared but then he says, “Okay, Senator. Senators Warner and Burr should expect to hear from me soon.”

“Oh,” she says. “Good. I hope to see you soon.” She hangs up and hands Mark back his phone. “You’re welcome.”

Mark looks down from his phone and back at her. “Wow,” he says. “You know you’re amazing, right?”

Kamala throws him a wink on her way out.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chuck is the first to text her a picture of the orb. Then Mark. Then Kirsten. Then Nancy.

Kamala is actually not even surprised at whatever the fuck it’s supposed to be.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It’s the middle of the night when she heads to the basketball courts, and she really prefers it that way. When there’s no one around and she can focus on the game instead of whatever the fuck is happening in the country. Her hair is tied back and she’s dressed loosely in a sweatshirt and yoga pants.

She throws from the three-point line and the ball swishes through but instead of bouncing away, there’s Nancy all of a sudden grabbing it and throwing it back at her. She catches it and starts dribbling.

“I didn’t know you played ball,” Nancy says.

Kamala shrugs. “I didn’t know you played either.” She passes the ball back and Nancy shoots. The ball hits the backboard and rolls back toward her.

“Yeah, I don’t play ball,” she admits. “Barack always tried to get me into it but honestly, it was a lot more work than I was willing to deal with and I really didn’t want to deal with it. More stress inducing than reducing.”

“I like it,” Kamala says. She takes the ball and makes another shot. “It lets me think about something other than whatever the hap is fuckening.”

“The hap is fuckening,” Nancy repeats with a chuckle. “That’s a good one, I might borrow it.” She walks beside Kamala and watches her dribble the ball around. “I hear Comey won’t be testifying until he talks to Mueller.”

“That’s what he told us.”

“Think it’s a good idea?”

Kamala shrugs. “I’d rather not think about that right now.”

“I see,” Nancy nods slowly. She pauses a second. “Do you want to know how I usually reduce stress?”

“I don’t know,” Kamala says, making her third shot in a row. “Is it as satisfying as that three-pointer I just made?”

“Well,” Nancy shrugs, “it’ll be satisfying for me, at least.”

And that’s how Kamala finds herself between Nancy’s legs, crouching down on the floor with her tongue flicking at her clit and licking her up, pushing gently inside her cunt. Nancy’s hands are in her hair and squeeze tightly when she tenses and comes into her mouth.

Kamala leans back on her heels and licks her lips. “Damn,” she breathes, “you taste pretty fucking good.”

“Cranberry juice,” Nancy replies smoothly. “Start drinking now, and you might taste half as good as I do when you’re my age.” Her phone buzzes in her pocket and she checks her messages, frowning a little. “What the fuck?”

“What?” Kamala asks. She gets to her feet and dusts off her knees, leaning over to take a look at Nancy’s phone. “Despite all the negative press covfefe…”

“I can’t believe it,” Nancy says. “That fucker accidentally sent a tweet before he finished typing it.”

“It’s not the first time he’s done it,” Kamala points out.

Nancy rolls her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, you have a point.” She pockets her phone and presses Kamala against the wall. “Now, you might be pretty decent at eating pussy but trust me, you’ve got a lot to learn.”

Kamala hums softly as Nancy pulls her pants down and kneels beneath her. “Well,” she says, “I’m all ready to learn.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The closed session hasn’t started yet, and so she marches over to Richard and crosses her arms. “What the actual fuck, Richard?” she huffs. “You didn’t bother to try and stop Ron or anyone else during their questioning.”

“That was because you were badgering the witness,” Richard tries to argue.

“Well, fuck that,” Martin snaps. “That’s stupid reasoning.”

“I agree,” Mark says as he steps over. “By that definition, we were all badgering the witness. You can’t just pick on her for asking the tough questions that you and the other members of this committee are too afraid to ask.”

Richard doesn’t respond. His face sets and he looks down at his files, mumbling a little under his breath. Mark and Martin both give Kamala sympathetic looks and she grimaces at them in turn.

Mark steps over and squeezes her shoulder. “I know this won’t stop you from asking the tough questions, now will it?”

“No it won’t,” Kamala assures him, and she manages a smile. No it fucking won’t. She gets to her seat and her eyes briefly meet Rogers’. She glares and he squirms and it’s a fucking good feeling.

She takes a sip of water and waits for everything to begin.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“I believe I speak for this entire committee when I ask,” Mark starts, looking around the room before down at Comey, “what made you think that Attorney General Sessions was going to recuse himself?”

Comey leans forward to the microphone. “Well,” he says, “he’s a fucking asshole.”

The room is silent for a long moment, and then every single Democrat bursts into laughter. Kamala wipes her tears and leans forward. “Director, could you tell us something that we _don’t_ know?”

“My apologies, Senators,” Comey chuckles softly. “I was just kidding.” He clears his throat. “No, he just met with Kislyak a bunch more times.”

“I fucking _knew_ it!” Chuck says from the other side of the room. All eyes turn to him and he clears his throat. “Oh, uh, I didn’t know my mike was hot.”

Kamala shakes her head and resists the urge to grin.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“So,” Kirsten says, a slight grin on her face, “that was some hearing, wasn’t it?”

“It was,” Kamala chuckles softly. She takes a sip of wine and shakes her head. “I’m actually pretty relieved it’s over now because we can start moving forward with the investigation. Mueller is supposed to talk with us about his probe so we don’t accidentally intervene.”

“That’s a good idea,” Kirsten nods. She sets her glass down on the table and kicks off her shoes. “Fuck, we’ve got a long way to go, don’t we?”

Kamala nods, sighing softly. “God. At least two fucking years before we can actually find anything of substance.”

“I’m not even on your committee and I’m pretty fucking stressed,” Kirsten admits. “I can barely keep up with the news and every day past five I have a fucking heart attack.”

Kamala checks the time. “Well, it’s four-thirty,” she says, looking back at her. “You, uh, want me to show you how Nancy relaxes?”

Kirsten raises a brow. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

And then Kamala leans forward and kisses her.

They move pretty fucking swiftly, deft fingers undoing buttons and gentle hands gently cupping their sides. Kamala leans forward and trails soft kisses down the side of her neck while Kirsten leans back against the couch and starts to unzip her pants.

 _Thank god for the pantsuit_ , Kamala thinks, biting back a laugh. She kisses her lips again, slow and sweet and pretty damn intoxicating though that could also be the wine, and she reaches into Kirsten's panties and starts rubbing around her cunt.

Kirsten tilts her head back. “Fuck,” she sighs, “no wonder Nancy looks so young. She comes every time she's stressed.”

“The fountain of youth,” Kamala hums, and her laughter is muffled when Kirsten kisses her again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 _Hey_ , Mark texts, _Sessions says he wants to testify in an open session. Got anything you want to ask him?_

Kamala smirks. _Oh I have got plenty._ She can’t fucking wait.

**Author's Note:**

> tldr Kamala Harris is amazing & she deserves better


End file.
